fishing with you

i remember going fishing with you
of all the childhood things that I’ve retained-
how you would bait my hook
knowing i would never actually touch a worm
and even though you would growl and bark about most other things
you did that without word or sigh-
then hand me the pole and help me cast it off.
I would wait with baited breath
and though no conversation was ever exchanged
(at least that I can recall)-
there was something just between us that I’ve always held dear.
You would talk to other adults that were near
giving your expertise on any subject
and i would listen-half hearing, half not-
waiting simply for the pole to bend
to show the sign of something caught.
I’d wait for the rush, for the look in your eyes
just for those moments-
though i never ever said it out loud nor under breath-
i was proud that you were my dad.

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